


Bed Rest

by a_taller_tale



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bedsharing, Getting Wash to take a Nap - The Sequel, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RvB Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Tucker takes care of Wash after an incident with a warthog and a wall.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxtrot77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtrot77/gifts).



> Secret Santa 2016 gift for foxtrot77 (@what-happened-to-agent-georgia).

It was a well-documented fact that Wash had a bad relationship with military vehicles.

This might have been the first time it was friendly fire though, which was impressive with Caboose around. The Reds insisted the time they ran him over with a car was warranted.

This time it was still sort of a Red, if the LTs counted as team members. Jensen was crashin— testing some of the refurbished vehicles. Wash usually stayed pretty far away from the motorpool, but he had been yelling for Tucker.

Tucker looked up from where he had been loitering just in time to see Wash eat the Warthog’s grill and get thrown neatly into a wall. His head cracked so hard against it everyone in the room was going to have a hard time eating their eggs.

“I’m fine,” Wash said immediately holding his palm out to halt her when Jensen jumped out of the vehicle to rush over. Then he staggered sideways making the unmistakable sound of vomiting inside his helmet. He ripped it off and finished, using his helmet as a makeshift bucket.

“I’m okay. Just, Delta said I could asphyxiate if I threw up in my helmet,” Wash slurred.

“Dude,” Tucker said. “You are not okay.”

Wash tried to get up in the wrong direction again and Tucker almost wasn’t able to catch him in time.

Wash tried to reach down for his helmet. No way. He wasn’t carrying Wash _and_ his vomit.

“Someone else’ll get it for you. Jensen, you mind?”

Jensen had her hands up. “I’m so sorr—“

“If you clean the barf out of that before you give it back, I’m sure he’ll call it even,” Tucker said. Wash was not paying much attention anymore.

“O-okay,” she stuttered.

“I didn’t think you were this strong,” Wash murmured as he was half dragged to the hospital.

“Thanks, Wash.”

According to Dr. Grey the armor had taken a lot of the impact, but he still had a concussion. She thought it was mild after some scanning to make sure his brain wasn’t bleeding or whatever, but when Wash calmly started listing off the times he had hit his head Grey’s usual smile deadened a bit.

“He’s going to need a lot of rest,” Grey told Tucker. Apparently since he was here, this was his responsibility now.

“Uh… that might be a problem,” Tucker said.

“I don’t do a lot of rest,” Wash said.

“Well, you’re going to, sweetie, because you just scrambled your brain, and you need to take care of yourself. It sounds like you’re _very_ much at risk for chronic traumatic encephalopathy.”

At their blank expressions, she elaborated. “You’re intimately familiar with the usual symptoms of a concussion, Agent Washington. Think of all of that all the time, plus bonuses. I’m ordering you on 24 hours of bedrest.” 

But I have—“ 

“No arguments~” she sang, “And Tucker, you’ll watch him and _make sure_ he doesn’t leave that bed. He’ll be more comfortable in his room.”

“Wait, what? Does he really need— Wash, she didn’t say you could leave, dude.” 

Wash almost crashed into a nearby metal cart getting up. “I have cadets to train. I’m already twenty minutes late.” 

Tucker frowned and lightly pushed Wash back down on the exam table by his shoulders. “You’re not training anyone today, Wash.” 

“Yes, he really needs to be watched. His scans looked fine, but he’s going to be confused for a while.”

“I’m not confused,” Wash snapped. “I’m totally and completely—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine whatever,” Tucker agreed. The offended look was turned right back on him.

Grey gave Wash some pain relievers, and handed a bottle with a couple more doses to Tucker, sending more aftercare instructions to his HUD so he could see signs to look out for to indicate Wash was getting worse and needed to get back to Medical.

Tucker would feel weird having this responsibility, but thinking about the other options… Caboose would accidentally kill him or wander off. The Reds? Pfft. Palomo was a total space case, and he might stick around if Tucker ordered him to, but he was not going to pay close enough attention.

Also, Tucker couldn’t picture Wash listening to anyone else. Not that he thought he would listen to him. It was going to be a long 24 hours.

“This hallway was always here,” Wash said randomly when they went towards the barracks section. Well, it sounded random, but Tucker could tell it was also a question after living with the guy so long. 

“Yeah, dude, this hallway was always here. Like, since we got here.”

“Oh.” Wash seemed to deflate a little as they went into his room. “I think I hit my head.” 

“Yeah, dude. You got hit by a car and then hit your head.” He pushed Wash to sit down on the bed in his armor, which made the bed creak menacingly, but he didn’t feel like trusting him to keep standing by himself while he got stuff out of the dresser.

He froze when he saw his old t-shirt and shorts folded neatly next to Wash’s meager collection of street clothes. He’d given them to Wash ages ago to borrow when he said he didn’t have anything to sleep in one time, and he hadn’t said he needed them back or anything. He hadn’t even missed them cuz since the crash site, he’d preferred to sleep free-ball, but was it weird that Wash kept them? Maybe he really liked _Pulp Fiction._ And it was still the only thing he had that looked like he could sleep in.

“Uh… you should get comfortable. These okay?” When he held up the clothes, Wash’s eyes widened a little. Man, when he had a head injury he had way less of a poker face. Or, maybe it was just that he wasn’t wearing a helmet.

Wash nodded, and then paused like the motion had gotten him dizzy. When he leaned back to recover, disaster struck. With a last sad groan, the bed collapsed underneath him.

Tucker dropped the pajamas. “What the fuck!”

Wash just laid there on his collapsed bed on the floor and closed his eyes, like he was done with everything, and Tucker didn’t really know what to do besides help him back up. “Uh… guess we shouldn’t sit on our beds in power armor. Now we know.” 

“I’m pretty sure we already knew that,” Wash said. 

“Yeah? Then why did you do it?” Ha. Had him there. 

“…” Wash scowled. “I’m injured.”

“Then what are you still doing in your armor, dude?”

Wash needed help getting out of his armor. He kept pausing and spacing out, or looking back at his ruined bed tragically. Yeah, who knew how they were going to repair that shit.

Wash insisted he was fine changing into the pjs himself, and he only almost fell over again once, but caught himself on the wall before Tucker had to intervene. His armor was left in a pile on the floor and the t-shirt stretched in that way it did over his broad shoulders, and eh, why not let him keep it? He wasn’t that attached to it. 

“Alright, uh… You should wash your face and brush your teeth.” That was the bedtime ritual, plus Wash probably still felt gross from upchucking.

Wash gave him a grimace, but didn’t argue, actually leading the way to the bathroom. Maybe it was a bad idea for him to stay on his feet, because he swayed until Tucker caught him under the arm. Wash gripped his armor the rest of the way to the bathroom, but brushing his teeth didn’t take too long aside from the spacing out.

Should Tucker look up that syndrome thingie that Grey mentioned? 

Tucker took him straight back to his own room. Wash blinked slowly when Tucker flicked the lights on to reveal his unmade bed.

“This isn’t my room,” Wash said.

“Yeah, it’s not, cuz you broke your bed. And not in the fun way.”

Instead of reacting with another glare, he looked at the floor. “…I break a lot of things.”

Uh… “Whoa, okay. Time to get you into bed. Bow chicka—“

Tucker cut himself off, Wash watching him with the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement.

 “Just get in the bed, asshole,” Tucker said. If he thought about it this was the second time he was getting Wash in bed. And this time he’d be sleeping in Tucker’s bed in Tucker’s clothes.

Wash eyed him suspiciously before climbing into his bed when Tucker lifted the covers. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

Well, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He could bunk somewhere else but he wanted to stay close by for Wash. “I dunno, I’ll just sleep on the floor or something.”

“That’s ridiculous, this is your bed, I can just drag my mattress on the floor.” Wash punctuated this by sitting up again and making like he was going to go back to his room.

“Oh, no no. I just got you in there.” Tucker gently pushed him back down by his… very broad and firm chest. “You’re not dragging your mattress on the floor. You’re taking my bed, okay? If I get tired I’ll just lay down next to you if it’s that fucking important.”

Wash looked indignant, but fwumped back down on the bed like it was nothing. “At least get out of your armor.”

Tucker hadn’t really been conscious of still wearing it. It was weirder to see Wash out of armor, though in the context of getting him to take a nap was familiar now. Did he like... feel weird about being out of armor when Tucker wasn’t or something? Was that a thing?

Tucker smirked, trying to make a joke out of it, “Well, if you really want me out of my armor…”

“You can’t sleep naked,” Wash said firmly.

“Now you’re thinking about me naked?” Before Wash could get out a coherent response, Tucker turned to his own dresser to get out something to sleep in for Wash’s frayed sanity. “Chill dude, it’s cool. I know, it’s hard not to think about.”

“Maybe I don’t care if you sleep on the floor,” he muttered as Tucker started releasing his armor.

Wash averted his eyes, studiously watching Tucker’s favorite seam in the wall while Tucker threw on his _actual_ favorite t-shirt that he wouldn’t let anyone borrow even if they had nothing to sleep in and peeled the rest of his undersuit off to put on some shorts.

“Is that from a movie or something?” Wash asked when Tucker was finished.

“Only the greatest movie ever of all time!”

“Reservoir Dogs?”

Tucker didn’t appreciate the doubt in his voice and decided he would school the unbeliever at a later date. “Reservoir Dogs.”

Tucker grabbed a couple bottles of water to put on the table next to Wash and by the time he looked back, Wash’s eyes started drooping. That was good, at least he would get some rest—

Wash shook himself a little violently, then winced when that jiggled his head too much.

“Whoa, what the fuck was that?”

“Hm? I… I don’t want to sleep.”

“Well, you actually have to sleep so that’s too bad.”

“You’re not sleeping.”

Oh my god, here came the three-year-old logic.

“I don’t have a head injury.” But whatever, he asked for it. Tucker clicked off the light and climbed into the other side of the bed before he chickened out on his own dare.

It felt like his bed normally felt. Except the weight distribution was different with two bodies in it. And he could hear Wash breathing. And they were two grown men sharing a bed so there was some body heat even though they weren’t close to touching.

It was, surprisingly, not that scary.

“Do we need the light off?” Wash asked thirty seconds later.

“I can turn it back on if you won’t use it to keep yourself awake.”

Wash huffed. Caught.

“Look, if you sleep, you’ll get better faster. Grey wanted you to sleep most of the next twelve hours and you’ll feel better faster if you just do it.”

Wash didn’t answer for a minute and Tucker wondered if he was pretending not to hear or something before he murmured “I don’t want to dream,” in the saddest voice he’d ever heard.

Everyone knew Wash had nightmares. He woke half the canyon up twice a week on the nights he screamed himself awake. No one talked about it. Everyone had their _thing_ , that tic they got from war that it was respectful to ignore cuz you didn’t want to get called out on _your_ thing.

Tucker sat up and got up again, grabbing the top sheet and the covers and shaking them out until they covered the bed evenly and let a little air in. He could see Wash watching him in the darkness, some residual light from underneath the door reflecting in his eyes.

He tucked Wash in on one side and then got in on the other side. “There. If you dream, I’m going to be here and I don’t care. Do you know how much Junior used to kick around in bed? You’ll be fine.”

He could feel Wash frowning, but they both laid there in the dark, feeling each other’s warmth, and their breaths started matching, evening out. Tucker was dosing when Wash asked him, “Everyone’s okay, right?”

Tucker didn’t really get it, but reassurance cost him nothing. “Yeah, we’re all okay, dude.”

“Okay,” Wash said.

Tucker listened to him breathe, normally, then slow and even, until he was out.

“Night, Wash.”


End file.
